Saturday, December 31, 2011

“So what should
we do for New Year’s Eve?” asked Trevor at the lunch counter.

“Let’s hang out
at Jay’s Tavern,” said Gary, taking a bite out of his burger. “They have a good
house band and give out free champagne at midnight.”

“Yuck!” Joan crinkled
her face in disgust. “There’s no way I’m ringing in the New Year at that filthy
dive, and don’t talk with your mouth full. Why don’t we go to my friend Mandy’s
house? She’s having a few friends over to watch movies all night long.”

Gary rolled his
eyes. “Boring! I want to have fun,
not sit around watching chick flicks with a bunch of sobbing girls.”

“Well it’s better
than hanging out in a room full of drunks,” said Joan.

“It’s New Year’s
Eve,” said Gary. “You’re supposed to be in a room full of drunks. And if you do
it right, you’ll be one of them.”

Joan sighed. “What’s
your vote, Trevor? How would you like to spend New Year’s?”

“I’m glad you
asked,” said Trevor. “I’ve done a bit research on various tribal traditions and
I think we can pull together an authentic fire ceremony to give a farewell blessing to
2011 and an open-hearted welcome to 2012.”

“Hmm,” Gary
rubbed his chin. “That actually sounds kind of cool.”

“All we need,”
continued Trevor, “Is an unflawed sacrifice. A spotless goat would be
ideal, but we can probably find something at the pet store. It’s okay if it
doesn’t bleed enough because we’ll have to provide a good amount of our own
blood anyway. And we should practice the dance because we’ll have to do it
naked for three hours in the moonlight.”

“You know,” said
Joan, “I’ve never really given Jay’s Tavern a fair chance.”

Friday, December 30, 2011

“Well Roger,
you’re a lucky man.” The doctor pulled the blood pressure strap off Roger’s
arm. “Not many people walk away after being struck by lightning.”

“I believe it,”
said Roger, rubbing his arm.

“I’d like to run
a couple more tests, but I think we’ll be done soon.” The doctor reached for
his clipboard. “I hope you learned your lesson about working on a ladder when
you hear thunder.”

“Sure did, doc.”
Roger looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot, then leaned in
close. “So, between you and me, what kind of super powers
do you think I could expect from this?”

The doctor
lowered his glasses. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know… super
speed, mind reading, the ability to stop time—that would be a good one. In your
professional opinion, what do you think I’ll get?”

“Um… I’m sorry
Roger, but you’re not going to ‘get’ anything. Lightning doesn't work that way.” The doctor scribbled a few
notes and walked toward the door. “I’ll send the nurse to finish up.
Remember, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Thursday, December 29, 2011

All of her
friends clapped when Naomi opened the present. The blue and white shoes were
just what she wanted, and they would go great with her cheerleading outfit.
Even the tough football players at the party had to admit they looked
pretty cool.

“Thank you
everyone. This is the best birthday ever.” Naomi thought she might cry.

“Actually,” said
Scott, pushing his way up to the table where she sat, “you still have one
present left.”

Whispers shot
throughout the girls in the room. It was well known that Scott and Naomi liked
each other, and the early signs of their romance were in the air.

“Why Scott, you
shouldn’t have.” Naomi blushed as she took the box from his hand.

She had to restrain herself from ripping it
open like an animal. Instead, she carefully and nonchalantly pulled the
wrapping paper off the narrow box, as if Scott’s present wasn’t the one she
had been waiting for all day. She finally reached the inside and pulled
out a frame. It took her a few seconds to interpret what was written on it, but
when she did her heart melted.

“You bought me a
star?” Naomi looked up at him with her big green eyes.

“Sure did,” said
Scott, adjusting his letterman jacket. “I had it registered and named after
you.”

“Awww…” said the other
guests.

“Why Scott, this
is the sweetest gift anyone has ever given me.” Naomi knew for sure she would
cry now. “Do you think we can see it?”

Scott nodded.
“You bet. We’ll need a strong telescope and a clear night, but I have the
coordinates. It’s on the edge of a galaxy called NGC-5195.”

A hush spread
across the room. Another guy standing near Scott snickered, but tried to hide his
face as he did.

Naomi set the
frame down on the table and pushed it away. “You mean the exceptionally small galaxy NGC-5195? The one that is
basically dwarfed by its neighbor, the much larger M51a?”

“Um… yeah.” Scott
began to feel uneasy.

“I see,” said
Naomi. “Well, would anyone like more cake?”

As she stood to
fetch the cake, people began to whisper again. Scott wasn’t certain, but he
thought he heard someone mutter the word “cheapskate” under her breath.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

“Yes, yes... I
understand, Mr. Stevens. I’ll take care of it right away.” Ms. Parkson sighed
as she hung up the phone.

Pulling herself
out of bed, she grabbed her blue robe and wrapped it around her frail body. She
usually enjoyed the authority that came with her job as a landlord, but not
when tenants woke her up at midnight. The young man in apartment 3B was making
a racket again, probably from a late night party. She was usually skeptical
about leasing rooms to young people for that very reason, but he seemed so polite and quiet when he applied. If he couldn’t learn to respect his neighbors then
he would have to hit the road.

Ms. Parkson could
hear the music from down the hallway. Sure enough, it was coming from the man
in 3B. She pounded on the door for a full minute before he answered.

“Hi, Ms. P,” said
the tall youngster when he saw her. He pushed his long blonde locks out of his
eyes. “Have you been here a while? I didn’t hear you knocking.”

“Well I’m not
surprised with all that noise!” She was too old to let some handsome young man
woo her with his charm. “Don’t you know it’s after quiet hours? You’re waking
up the whole building with your stereo and your loud party, and I have to hear
all the complaints!”

“Gee Ms. P, I’m
sorry. But it’s not a stereo and no one is here except me. I was just
practicing with my guitar.” He held up his guitar for her to see.

Ms. Parkson
peeked around the door. Sure enough, no one else was in the room. “That music
was coming from you? It sounded pretty good. Kind of like a young Elvis.”

The young man
sighed. “I wish. Elvis is my hero, but I’ll never be as good as him.”

“Well you can’t
give up that easily,” she told him. “You never know what can happen.”

He shook his
head. “No, it’s already too late. When Elvis was 22, he had been on the Ed
Sullivan show three times. I’m 24, and I haven’t been on the Ed Sullivan show
once.”

“Of course not,”
she told him. “Ed Sullivan’s show ended in the early 70s. He died over thirty
years ago.”

“What?” The young
man’s eyes grew wide with shock. Ms. Parkson thought he might cry. To confirm
her suspicion, he sniffled a little and buried his head in his arm.

“Oh come on now,”
she said, reaching up to pat him on the back. “There’s no need for that. You’ve
got a sweet voice and gift for that guitar. If getting on the Ed Sullivan show
is your dream, then don’t you let anyone or anything get in your way. You just
keep on practicing until you’re perfect, and let the world decide.”

It took some time
to cheer him up, but Ms. Parkson thought she did a good job. She returned to
her own room and crawled back into her bed as the sound of his guitar filled
the building. When her phone rang again, she pulled the plug.

Those
inconsiderate neighbors weren’t going to squash that young man’s talent. She
was the landlord and if she wanted them to put a cork in it then they had
better do so. This kid was going places, and Ed Sullivan had no idea what was
coming his way.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Brady mashed a
few buttons on the control console with no results. “I’m going to be late for a
meeting because this blasted machine decided to get jammed right when I need to
make copies of my presentation!”

Patrick pushed
himself between Brady and the copier right before he kicked it again.

“It’s time for
you to take a deep breath, Brady. Getting angry at the copier won’t help it
work any better. If you want it to respect you, you must first respect it.”
Patrick patted the machine as if it were a wounded animal.

“Unbelievable,”
said Brady. “I’m about to miss my meeting and you want me to respect this hunk
of junk.”

“Shhhhh… there’s
no need for such language.” Brady put his hands on each side of the copier, as
though he were blocking its ears. “Maybe you should try being nice to it for a
change and see what happens.”

Brady was about
to speak again when Patrick raised a finger to silence him. Then Patrick leaned
over the top of the machine and softly stroked its lid like he was petting a
dog.

“You’re a good
copier… yes you are. You work so hard and put up with a lot of abuse, but we
all know this office couldn’t run without you. You make copies all day long
without so much as a thank you. I know you deserve better. Such a good copier…”

Brady was ready
to start kicking Patrick instead of the machine. He was sure his coworker
had completely lost it, but a moment later the copier roared to life. Light
flashed out of its lid and perfect copies of Patrick’s presentation began
filling the output tray. Brady’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“Here you are,”
said Patrick, handing him the copies.

“Thanks,” said
Brady taking them out of his hand.

Patrick nodded
toward the machine. “I’m not the one you should be thanking.”

Brady looked over
his shoulder to make sure no one else was watching. “Um, thanks… copier.” Then
he rolled his eyes and stomped out of the room.

As soon as he was
gone, the copier made a beeping noise.

“No, it’s not
your fault,” said Patrick, petting the machine again. “He’s just got a bad
attitude. Just remember that you’re better than that, and you don’t need to
take any revenge.”

Seconds later,
they heard Brady’s scream echo throughout the office.

Patrick shook his
head. “If only the electric stapler was so forgiving.”

Monday, December 26, 2011

“Hi Charles,”
said Dylan, pushing his way to the punch bowl. “Having fun?”

“Indeed,” said Charles.
He had to speak above the jazzy Christmas music coming from the living room. “I
always enjoy a good holiday party. And I’m so glad they decided to make it a
potluck. I love to prepare food.”

“Yeah, I agree.”
Dylan refilled his cup of punch. “What did you bring?”

“Me?” asked Charles.
“I prepared a cheese tray.”

“No kidding? Me
too.” Dylan toasted him. “What did you do for yours?”

Charles took a
cup of punch from the table to toast him back. “Well, first I selected a
delicate Hervé Mons Camembert—my favorite from the Normandy region of
France—and I rubbed it with a coat of white wine. Then I baked it with some
fresh Oregon hazelnuts and garnished it with freshly ground parsley sprigs
from my herb garden. Lastly, I surrounded the plate with thinly sliced prosciutto
and cubes of my own homemade sourdough boule. I think the nutty richness of the
Camembert provides a delectable balance to the savory meat and the thicker
texture of the warm bread. What did you do for your cheese tray?”

“Well,” said
Dylan, “First I spread a pack of Saltines across a plate and coated each one
with a thin layer of mayonnaise. Then I took a can of Easy Cheese and used it
to draw a picture of a Christmas tree onto each cracker.”

“That sounds
very… creative,” said Charles.

“Thanks Chuck.
Good to see you.” Dylan toasted him again and returned to the living room.

Charles cursed
under his breath after Dylan left. Why didn’t he think to make his cheese plate
look like Christmas trees?

Sunday, December 25, 2011

So far, all of the stories I've written on this blog were fictitious, or mostly fictitious. This one, however, is 100% true. I wrote it as part of a creative writing class I took a couple years ago and it seemed appropriate for Christmas. Happy Holidays everyone!

When my oldest
brother David was in middle school, he received his first electric train set
for Christmas. It was a tiny N-gauge train with tracks less than half an inch
wide, and it fit perfectly on a small table in his bedroom.

David loved that
train. He spent several months crafting miniature structures to set up around
it. He carefully glued and painted matchboxes, scraps of wood and other
miscellaneous debris to build an entire town. The town was complete with quaint
houses, a diner, a hardware store and many other clearly labeled buildings. He
named it Davidsville, as printed on the Davidsville City Hall.

Although he loved
to show me and our other siblings the train, David was always nervous about
people touching his delicate little town. Dad was especially prohibited since
he had his own obsession with trains and loved to tinker with them, often
beyond repair.

Years later, the
train set and all its decorations, along with most of our childhood memories,
ended up in the attic of our suburban Pittsburgh home. When David left for
college, Dad jumped at his big chance. He dug out the set, attached the tracks
to a large sheet of plywood and brought Davidsville back to life. It became his
new hobby, and the tinkering began. Mostly, Dad just played with the layout,
but during the holidays he liked to display it on top of our upright piano in
the living room, right next to the Christmas tree. He would cover the board
with fluffy fake snow and set all the buildings on top of it. He then added a
few red candles around the tracks, and they would only be lit the nights we
opened presents. I had to admit that he did a good job; it looked just like a
scene from It’s a Wonderful Life.

David liked it
when he saw it on his holiday breaks, although he confided to me that he had
some reservations. “It bothers me that Dad is playing with my train,” he would
say. He was still very protective of fragile Davidsville.

One Christmas,
when I was 13 years old, David studied abroad in England and was unable to be
with us. My other older brother Jon and sister Kristin were home, along with
Mike and Pia—family friends from Denmark—so we still had a full house. Our
family has a tradition of opening presents on Christmas Eve, so after church we
gathered in the living room with plates of cookies and lots of anticipation.
Dad fiddled with his camera and Mom ran around taking care of all the details.
She dimmed lights, played a Christmas CD and made sure all the decorations were
turned on and lit up. Part of her routine included lighting the candles that
Dad set up on the train set, which she did casually while asking Pia questions
about Christmas in Denmark. As her match approached one of the wicks, a small
spark fell off and drifted slowly to the fake snow beneath it.

It turns out that
fluffy white stuff is inflammable. Highly
inflammable.

Within seconds,
the entire bed of snow burst into flames. Mom jumped back safely as the blaze
soared into the air, licking the ceiling. I anxiously waited for one of the
adults to do something, but everyone just froze and stared at the inferno.
After a few seconds, Dad darted out of the room.

Pia finally took
action. She fetched a pitcher of water from the kitchen and poured it over the
fire. Within seconds, the flames died down and left only a loud sizzling sound
and a lot of smoke. The fire was out and everyone let out a sigh of relief.

An instant later,
Dad ran back into the room carrying a fire extinguisher.

“Stand back!” he
shouted, reading the instructions and pulling the pin.

“But Dad—“ my
sister started.

Dad squeezed the
handle and a huge white cloud filled the room.

Between the smoke
of the fire and the even denser fog from the extinguisher, I could barely see
the person standing next to me. Breathing wasn’t easy, either. In a mass of
confusion and coughing, I followed the crowd out the door and onto our front
lawn to escape the toxic air that filled the house. Snow was falling heavily
and the wind was freezing, but I was grateful to be outside.

Dad was the last
one out, and he dragged with him the plywood that held Davidsville. As soon as
he pulled it down the steps of the front porch, he hurled the whole thing into
a pile of snow. I could still hear it sizzling.

“You know,” my
brother Jon said to him as we all stared at the smoldering heap, “Pia put that
fire out before you turned on the extinguisher.”

Dad just shook
his head. “Better safe than sorry.”

We spent the next
couple hours airing out the house and cleaning fire extinguisher debris. With
all the windows and doors open, everyone had to wear heavy coats. Sticky white
paste covered the piano, the TV, the walls, most of the carpet and the good
side of the Christmas tree (we left it on the tree because it was too hard to
clean and because it resembled snow on an evergreen, despite the noticeable
chemical smell). We scrubbed a long time before somebody looked up and realized
the ceiling was covered, too.

Presents still
managed to be opened, although it turned into a late night—probably the latest
my parents ever let me stay up at that age. The next morning, Christmas Day,
there was still a distinct burning smell and a hazy, smoky look in the air.

Around noon, Jon
put on his hat and gloves and dug the wreckage out of the snow. All that
remained were some shriveled metal tracks, a lot of ash and one little house.
It was a white wooden house—one of the first ones my brother built—and half of
it was charred black.

I don’t remember a
single present I received that year, but it’s still the most memorable
Christmas of my childhood. David still has that little half-burned house and it
sits on his mantle. He did forgive my father for tinkering with his train, and
he now owns a new electric train that he shares with his own son.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Brian tapped his
fingers against the steering wheel as he waited in his car. Since he was parked
in a tow zone, he kept an eye on his mirror to make sure a meter maid wouldn’t
surprise him with a ticket. He checked his watch for the twentieth time and
swore under his breath.

“Where is she?”
he said aloud.

In answer to his
question, the passenger’s door swung open and a young blonde woman hopped in
with an armful of shopping bags.

“I know, I’m
late. But it was worth it because I found the perfect gift for my brother.”
Sylvia gave Brian a kiss as she tossed the bags in the back seat.

Brian started the
car and pulled away. “I’m glad, sweetie, but I don’t understand why you have to
wait until Christmas Eve to do your shopping. Now we’re going to be late
meeting your brother for dinner and we don’t have time to wrap whatever you bought
him.”

“Not necessary,”
she said, unzipping her thick coat. “Check it out.”

From inside her
coat, she pulled out a squirming brown puppy and held it up to Brian’s face.
The sight surprised Brian, causing him to almost swerve off the road. The car
behind him honked.

“Isn’t he the
cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” She said it in a baby voice as she kissed the puppy’s
head.

“Sure, cute,”
Brian said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Did your brother want a dog? I don’t
remember him talking about it.”

Sylvia pressed
the puppy’s cheek against her own. “He never mentioned it, but that’s why it’s
such a great surprise.”

“Isn’t he
allergic to dogs?” Brian pulled onto the highway.

“Only a little.” She held the puppy up in the air to look at its big brown eyes. “His
face breaks out and he has trouble breathing, but that’s it.”

Brian checked his
mirrors as he merged lanes. “And doesn’t his landlord have a strict rule
against pets?”

She shrugged.
“Maybe he’ll just have to pay a pet deposit or extra rent. Worst case scenario,
he’ll have to move. Why are you being so negative about this?”

Brian sighed.
“Sorry, Sylvia, but a dog is a big deal. That’s a lot of responsibility to
thrust on your brother.”

“Well I had to do
something big to make up for last year.” She set the puppy on the floor by her
feet.

“That’s true,” he
agreed. “He did tell you not to put real candles on his Christmas tree.”

“It’s not my
fault his tree was so dry,” she said. “If he watered it more often then it
wouldn’t have been so flammable.”

“In-flammable,” he corrected her.

“Don’t start.” She
pointed a finger at him. “This is the most awesome gift ever and my brother is
going to love it. By the way, he has to pee.”

“What?”

Brian pulled into
the emergency lane and hit the brakes—a little too late. Sylvia opened the door
to let the puppy out, but there was already a distinct and odorous puddle on
the floor below the passenger’s seat.

“Isn’t he
adorable?” Sylvia asked as they leaned against the hood and watched the little
guy bounce around in the grass.

Brian was about
to say something, then decided against it. “Yeah, adorable,” he said instead. “So what breed is he?”

Friday, December 23, 2011

Ralph clutched
the bucket of Legos as though his life depended on it. It was the last jumbo
Lego set in the department store and he had to race down an aisle to beat a
middle-aged couple to it. Now he eyed everyone who came near him in the
checkout line. It was a dire situation, and nobody could be trusted.

“Wow, I’m
surprised we had any of these left,” said the young cashier when she rang him
up. “They’ve been very popular this year.”

“No kidding,”
said Ralph, swiping his credit card.

She handed him
his receipt. “Thank you, sir. You’re going to make some little boy very happy
with this.”

Ralph paused.
“What do you mean?”

She pointed at
the large bucket on the counter. “The Legos. They’re going to make a great
gift.”

“Oh, right,”
Ralph said. “Yes, the Legos are a gift… for a little boy. He’ll be very happy
to get them—my little boy, that is—for Christmas. Because they’re his present.
I mean, it’s not like they’re for me. It’s not like I’m using them to build a
14-foot-tall statue of Betty White. Why would I do that?”

Without another
word, Ralph grabbed the Legos and rushed out of the store.

“I think so.”
Owen took a seat at the kitchen table. “It took a while because I told him all about
Santa Claus. He’s finally old enough to understand it.”

“That’s so sweet.”
She took her own seat and cupped her warm mug in her hands. “Although I still
feel some hesitation about telling him those stories. It feels like we’re lying
to him.”

“Nonsense.” Owen
held her hand. “Believing in Santa is part of childhood. I wouldn’t want to
deprive him of those memories when he’s older. Besides, it gives him another
reason to behave.”

Lily smiled and
sipped her tea. “You’re probably right. If he’s interested then I wouldn’t want
to crush his enthusiasm.”

“Oh he’s
definitely interested,” said Owen. “He wanted to know every detail about Santa
and hung on my every word. Honey, I wish you could have seen how big his eyes
got when I told him. I’ve never seen him so focused. I think I should dress up as Santa
one of these nights and surprise him in his room.”

“You two are
adorable.” She leaned over and gave Owen a kiss. How could her family be more perfect?

A few doors away,
Carter lay in his bed, wide awake. Under the covers, he clutched the baseball
bat he retrieved after his dad left the room. He kept one eye on the window and
the other on his closet. Somewhere, somehow, there was a crazy old fat man who
dressed like the devil and watched his every move. The thought made Carter
tremble with fear, and he didn’t understand why his parents left him alone when
this maniac could be anywhere. If he did show up, Carter wasn’t going down
without a fight. He had his trusty bat, and although his teacher scolded him
for it, he wasn’t afraid to bite.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

As I headed out
to check my mailbox, I saw little Davy Goldner and his cousin Phillip fighting on the sidewalk.

“Good afternoon,” I said,
walking over and breaking up their feud. “What’s going on with you young
fellas?”

“Hello sir,” said
Davy. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is on TV tonight
and we both want to watch it.”

I knelt down on
one knee to match their height. “Well that doesn’t sound like anything to argue
about.”

“But it’s past
our bedtime and we have to watch it the next day,” said Phillip. “Davy says we
should Tivo it, but I think we should just download it from the internet.”

“Tivo is higher
resolution,” said Davy.

“Is not!” Phillip
shoved him.

“Is too!” Davy shoved
him back.

“Whoa, whoa!” I
pushed the two boys apart with my hands to calm them down. “I think you young
men need to appreciate the conveniences you have these days. When I was
your age, we didn’t have Tivo or the
internet.”

“Did you have to watch all your shows on DVD?”
asked Phillip.

“You’re a dummy,”
said Davy. “They didn’t have DVD either. They used big black tapes. I know
because my daddy has a box of them in the attic.”

I laughed. “We
had videocassettes when I was older, Davy, but most of my life we didn’t have
them either.”

Phillip scratched
his head. “So how did you watch anything?”

“Well,” I said. “We
had a book called TV Guide, and it
told you when everything was on that week. If there was a show you wanted to see,
you had to plan to be in front of the TV when it aired. And if you missed it
then tough luck.”

“No way!” both of
the children’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

I nodded. “It’s
true. And Christmas specials like Rudolph only came on once a year. If you couldn't watch them when they played then
you had to wait a whole year before you could see them again.”

“That bites!”
said Phillip.

“Sure does,”
agreed Davy. “It sounds like we have it easy.”

“That’s big of
you to say, Davy” I patted him on the shoulder. “Back when I was a kid, the
only possible way to see a movie whenever I wanted was to ask my father to buy
me a 35mm film print and order our butler Nigel to project it for me in our
home theater. Of course, that was only convenient in the winter, because the theater
in our summer home had a very small screen that I was embarrassed to show my
friends. My father could be so cheap sometimes.”

A car horn honked
from behind me. I turned to see Nigel leaning his elderly head out the window
of my limousine.

“Are you ready to
return, sir?” he asked.

“I’m coming, hold
your horses!” I told him, then turned back to the children. “Just remember guys,
you have an easy life. I really had to suffer when I was your age.”

And with that, I
picked up my mail and took my seat in the back of the limo so Nigel could
chauffer me back up the driveway to the east wing of my family estate. It felt good to
have imparted a sense of value into those spoiled young children.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

“Oh come on,
Lester. Let me set you up with my friend Amanda. You two are perfect for each
other.”

Lester signed.
His lunch break was almost over and Mia hadn’t let him enjoy a single minute of
it in peace. She pestered him from across their office’s tiny breakroom table ever
since he clocked-out and she showed no signs of relenting.

“Pleeeeease?” She
leaned in front of him with her hands folded.

Lester shook his
head. “I’m just not comfortable with blind dates.”

“Don’t be a
coward.” She punched him in the shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Hi sipped the
last of his soft drink. “I’ve had too many failed relationships in the past to
jump in without knowing someone first. I’ve learned that there are a lot of qualities
to look for in a woman before I get involved. If they’re not there, then it’s
just a waste of time before we break up and hate each other. I’m tired of
getting hurt.”

“You’re so pessimistic,”
she said, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe that’s why you’re still single.”

He crumbled up
his soft drink cup and tossed it in a wastebasket next to the table. “Look Mia,
you don’t understand how many failed romances I’ve had. It’s made me picky and
I’m proud of that. I want to get married someday and I don’t intend to waste any
more time on dates that will lead to nothing. There is a long list of things your
friend and I would need to have in common before I’d even consider meeting her,
and even then there's no guarantee that we’ll like each other. I think the odds of
meeting someone who is compatible for me are extremely slim, so yes, I’m a little pessimistic about it.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “How about this, Lester… Amanda and I have been friends since
kindergarten and I know her better than anyone. Ask me anything you want
to know about her and we’ll see if she meets your standards.”

Lester looked her
in the eye. “If I do this and she falls short—which is likely—will you drop the
subject?”

“Scout’s honor.” She
held up her hand in a pledge.

“Okay then.” Lester
rapped his fingers on the table while he thought about what
to ask.

There were so
many things to consider—hobbies, religion, political views, age, social
inhibitions, intelligence, temperament, music—he didn’t know where to begin. A
lot was at stake on these questions and he needed to make sure he asked them in
the right order. He took his time evaluating every possibility. Mia feared they
would be late returning to work and was getting ready to punch him again when
he finally spoke up.

“Okay, first
question,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “Who’s her favorite Beatle?”

“George.” She
replied without hesitation. “Definitely George.”

“George?” he
repeated. “Why would anyone choose George?”

Mia shrugged. “Amanda adores him. She always has.”

Lester leaned
back and thought about this.

“Well?” she
asked.

“Okay Mia, set us
up.” He stood up and walked toward the door.

“Wait, that’s it?
What about all your questions and requirements and high standards?”

Lester stopped
and looked back at her. “Well I didn’t expect you to say George.”

He left the room
and returned to his desk with a big smile. Amanda—what a great name! For the first time in years, he thought he
might be in love.

Monday, December 19, 2011

“Wow, I can’t
believe Kim Jong-il died.” Stephanie turned down the car radio when the news
report ended.

“I know,” said
Jeremy from the driver’s seat. “Who was he again?”

“The leader of
North Korea.” She pointed at the radio. “The one they’ve been talking about for
the last ten minutes.”

“Right, right.”
Darren nodded.

Stephanie looked
out the window. “I wonder how that will affect our relations with North Korea.”

“It might end
some tension,” said Darren. “It seems like there’s been hostility with them for
a long time.”

Stephanie gazed
at the passing scenery. “You could be right. It might increase diplomacy, but
it could also go the other way. What if his successor is more of a war monger?
What if he wants to expand their nuclear authority?”

“In that case,”
said Darren, “We’ll need more mobile surgical hospitals over there.”

“I suppose so…
wait, what?” she broke her gaze out the window and looked at him.

“The surgical
hospitals. If this new guy is more aggressive, there will be more casualties.
They can barely keep up with what they get now.” Darren shook his head out of
pity. “Those poor doctors are so overworked. It’s a good thing they have such
good senses of humor. Except for the rich ones, that is.”

“Darren,” said
Stephanie, “I hate to ask this, but do you actually know anything about North
Korea other than what you’ve seen on MASH?”

“Of course I do!”
He looked offended. “What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“Sorry.” She reached
over and rubbed his shoulder. “It was just a stupid thought I had.”

“I’d say so.” He honked his horn at a car
that cut him off. “I know a lot about North Korea. For example, I could tell you
about their techniques of torturing people with scorpion poison, or how they
have the technology to burn people on earth with satellites covered in diamonds.”

Stephanie pulled her hand back. “So… MASH and that James Bond movie with Halle
Berry?”

Sunday, December 18, 2011

“I’d like the prime
rib, no sides.” Karen closed the menu and handed it to the waiter.

“Good choice,” he
said, then turned to Rick. “And for you?”

“I’ll take the
special,” he said, handing over his menu, too.

After the waiter
left, a wide grin spread across Rick’s face. He was beaming, and he couldn’t
help looking at Karen.

“What is it?” she
asked. “Did I say something funny?”

“Not at all,” he
said. “It’s just a relief to hear that you eat meat. The last woman I dated was
a vegetarian and it caused a lot of problems for us.”

Now it was Karen’s
turn to grin. “I can understand that. To be honest, I was worried about the
same thing. I’m a total carnivore, and I would hate to be with someone who
thinks eating meat is offensive.”

“Exactly.” Rick
took a sip of his water. “I mean, some vegetarians are more tolerant, but my ex
was very outspoken about her beliefs. I couldn’t eat soup made with chicken
broth without hearing an hour-long lecture about it. To keep the peace, I ended
up becoming vegetarian myself for the last few weeks we were together. It made
me miserable.”

“I can't believe you went that far." Karen unfolded her napkin and spread it
across her lap, still smiling. "You certainly won’t
have to worry about that with me, Rick. I would hate it if you gave up meat. To be
honest, I think we're a good match.”

“I was thinking the
same thing.” He picked up his wine glass. “I’m really glad I met you, Karen.”

They clinked
their glasses and sipped their wine, keeping eye contact the whole time.

The two lovebirds
continued to chat about their similarities until the waiter returned with their
dishes. Karen’s eyes lit up when she saw her juicy steak. Rick’s special also
came with a large cut of beef, along with a side salad. He inhaled the aroma
and savored every bit of it, grateful that he could once again enjoy the food
he loved.

“Bon appétit,” he
said, taking a forkful of salad and shoving it in his mouth.

Karen watched him
and froze, wide-eyed. A look of horror spread across her face.

“Karen, are you
all right?”

“That’s so gross,”
she said, pointing at his plate.

Rick looked down
at his food. “What do you mean? You said you eat meat, too.”

“I said I’m a
total carnivore. I only eat meat. If
you’re going to devour those vegetables in front of me then I’m going to be sick.”

Without another
word, she covered her mouth with her hand and ran to the bathroom.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Ryan stumbled into the kitchen
with a huge yawn. He was still groggy from waking up, and he prepared his
morning bowl of cereal with half closed eyes. It was a routine he had done a
thousand times before and his motions were automatic. It wasn’t until he sat
down at the kitchen table that he realized someone else was already there.

“Geez, Dave!” he said with a
jump. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“Sorry,” said his roommate. Dave
didn’t look up, but sat quietly at the table and stared at a salt shaker in
front of him.

“No worries,” said Ryan, now
wide awake. “What are you doing up so early, anyway?”

“Practicing,” said Dave, still
staring at the salt shaker.

Ryan took a seat at the opposite
end of the table and began to eat his cereal. “How’s that working out for you?”

Dave broke his concentration. He
looked away from the shaker and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t do it if you
keep distracting me, Ryan.”

Ryan set down his spoon. “Sorry,
but you’ve been working at this for a long time. Are you sure you have these
powers?”

“I told you, it's scientifically
proven!” From underneath the table, Dave produced a worn-out paperback book
that he shoved in front of Ryan. It was titled Harnessing Your Psychic Abilities.”

“I’m just saying,” said Ryan, “You’ve
been putting a lot of effort into this. Locking yourself in your room for
weeks, meditating all day, fasting until you’re about to pass out... you’re
killing yourself and you still haven’t seen any results.”

Dave snatched the book back. “You
want results? I’ll show you results, but you have to stay quiet and not create
any distractions.”

Dave took a deep breath. Then he
leaned forward and once again focused his eyes on the salt shaker. His gaze was
intense, and Ryan could see veins throbbing in his forehead. Dave seemed to be
holding his breath the whole time. Two minutes passed before Dave finally let
out a burst of air and almost collapsed, gripping the table for support.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Lucas stomped snow off his feet before entering the house. It was a brisk day, and the rush of
warmth from the fireplace felt calming. After pulling off his boots and
hanging up his thick coat, he carried a shopping bag to the dining room table
where Amanda was preparing to wrap gifts.

She was arranging
her rolls of wrapping paper when he walked up behind her. Lucas knew what she
was thinking and dangled the shopping bag in front of her face before she could
ask. Her eyes lit up when she saw it.

“You found one?”
She snatched the bag out of his hands and peeked inside. “You did! A remote
control helicopter! I thought all the stores were all sold out.”

“That’s the last
one in the whole city.” Lucas pulled out the chair next to her and
took a seat. “And believe me, I looked.”

“Oh, thank you
dear.” Amanda gave him a kiss and immediately began wrapping the toy. “This is
exactly what your nephew wanted. He’ll be so excited.”

“Yes, we are. I
know it’s been a hassle, but I’m nervous about your whole family coming over
for Christmas. I want everything to be perfect.” She stretched a few layers of
paper across the box. “Will you please pass me that roll of Scotch tape?”

“Sure, here you
go,” he said, handing her the tape. “And they’ll have a great time even if you
don’t get them everything on their wish list.”

She wrapped tape around
the package. “I know, but Christmas is such an important time for them.
Remember, my family isn’t from America and we never celebrated it. My folks
never understood why someone should get a free gift they haven’t earned. This
is our first Christmas together, and it means a lot to me to experience your
traditions. Can you hand me the hot glue gun?”

He found the glue
gun in her wrapping supplies and passed it to her. “I’m glad to see you so
excited. Just remember that Christmas is best when you’re spending time with
your family, not when you’re focusing too much on the presentation.”

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Mr. Richards was
sitting in his favorite armchair reading the paper when his son Timothy bolted
through the door and ran up the stairs, carrying his instrument. No less than a
minute later, Timothy ran back down the stairs with a skateboard.

“Hi Dad. Bye
Dad.” Timothy barely looked at his father as he reached for the door he just
entered.

“Whoa, slow down!
Where’s the fire?” Mr. Richards set his paper aside. “Don’t you have time to
talk to your old man these days?”

“But Dad, Bobby
and the other guys are going to the skate park. I don’t wanna be late.” Timothy
started to pull the door open again.

Timothy gave a
loud sigh and marched into the living room. He took a seat on the sofa,
opposite Mr. Richards. “It was okay, I guess.”

“You guess?”
asked Mr. Richards. “Did you learn any new songs.”

“Just one,” said
Timothy. “An old colonial tune. And I played it all the way through the first
time without any mistakes.”

“That’s
wonderful, son!”

Timothy beamed
with pride. “Yeah, and it was a tough one. The instructor said I had natural
talent.”

“I could
have told you that,” said Mr. Richards. “You picked up the banjo in no time.
Are you and your friends still thinking about starting a group?”

“Oh, for sure,”
Timothy said. “We’ve got my banjo, a washboard player, a fiddler
and a harmonica, and we’ve already hashed out a few songs. It’s all mellow folk
music, but that’s what we like. And we think we can play at the farmer’s market
next week for our first performance. The only problem is, we can’t agree on the
band name.”

“Well,” said Mr.
Richards, “What are you considering?”

“I like The
Vomitorium,” said Timothy, “but Bobby just wants it to be Hurl.”

“Hmm…” Mr.
Richards mulled it over in his head. “They’re both strong, but I think you can
do better. What do you think about Puke Bucket?”

“Puke Bucket?”
Timothy’s eyes lit up as he thought about it. “You know, Dad, that’s actually
pretty good. I think that might even be better than The Vomitorium.”

Mr. Richards
smiled. “Well, I used to be a folk player myself, back in the day.”

“Wow, Dad, I can’t wait to tell it to Bobby.
He’s gonna flip out!” Timothy jumped out of the sofa and ran toward the door.
Just before he disappeared through it, he turned back to his father. “Thanks
pop. I’m glad we took the time to chat.”

“You’re welcome,
son. And thank you.”

Timothy smiled at
his father and ran off. Mr. Richards picked up his paper again and opened it to
the Real Estate section. He cherished these special moments.